Author: PhoebeOtaku
Title: untitled as of yet (contest for best title! Ready GO!)
Author's notes: totally randomly inspired alternate universe Gundamwing Fic...my first AU ever actually. I'm not sure what exactly inspired this, but the 'epiphany' just hit me in the shower...maybe I was just high from the combination of tropical kiwi body wash, citrus sun tea shaving cream, strawberries and crème shampoo, and creamy fresh peaches conditioner....bring on the vanilla bodyspray! (glad that it wasn't herbal essences...cause then I don't know what would have happened ;P )
Author's notes 2: oi! That was fun. *giggles at things she's thought of for the rest of this.*
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Quatre leaned back in his huge desk chair as he picked up the tabloid that his secretary had dropped onto the expanse of mahogany. "Thank you, Hilde." He said politely just before his eyes widened at the head line and picture. The secretary gave him a wry look and then melted out of the room.
"What is it this time, Quatre?" asked Trowa quietly from across the room, leaning against a bookshelf. Trowa watched patiently as his friend's face expressed alternately horror and ...hilarity? Quatre finally tossed the tabloid onto his desk, shaking his head in disbelief.
"I suppose if they were going to pair me up with someone, I should consider them thinking that I'm with the 'gorgeous and reclusive actor Trowa Barton' a compliment, ne?" he said as Trowa picked up the tabloid eyes widening slightly, as close as the stoic would come to outright expression of shock. 'Bad boys, For Love or Money?' Blared the headline above a picture of Quatre, in a leather jacket with a helmet under his arm, and Trowa dressed similarly. The picture had been taken little under a week earlier. They had gone out racing, Quatre wanting to know if his newest toy could live up to the hype that had surrounded the cycle's latest model and Trowa, being on a break from filming his latest movie, had wanted to go for a ride on his not quite as expensive but trusty older bike. They had stopped after a while to refuel their bikes and decided to grab a drink and play pool.
"I didn't even notice the paparazzi who took this picture." Trowa finally said, not quite ready to read the article.
"That's unusual." Quatre replied, Trowa's instinct in avoiding reporters and photographers was legend. His ears expertly tuned to the infinitesimal click of the shutter on a camera. Every time a picture was taken, Trowa simply knew. The hundreds of times that Trowa had walked into a room announcing to Quatre that his picture had just been taken on such and such street or at a vending machine in the hotel he was staying in echoed through Quatre's memory. Inevitably those pictures ended up in mass media of some kind, whether it be tabloids, People magazine, or national newspapers. "They must be really good at what they do, ne?"
"True, though I'm actually more impressed that they figured out your name, Quatre." Trowa mused reading through the rest of the article, which varied between exhorting tears from Trowa Barton's female fans, villianizing him somewhat for 'using' the young billionaire for his money, villainizing Quatre in almost the same way for using this influential money to 'take advantage' of the 'gorgeous and reclusive actor', contemplation of his sexual orientation, and wrapping it all up with a beneficent 'good luck'. Whether the good luck was meant for Quatre, Trowa, or the adoring female population, who would inevitably be buying the paper for this article, was skillfully left up to the imagination of the reader.
"I suppose I shouldn't have paid for the drinks with a credit card, ne?" Quatre sighed, he wondered if any of the board members had seen this yet. Trowa staunchly refrained from echoing Quatre's sigh.
"I wonder how long it will take for Entertainment news to come up with the spin that this was a publicity stunt to increase my fan base." Trowa muttered under his breath, causing Quatre to burst out laughing.
"Like you would need to pull a stunt to do that?" Quatre said in response to Trowa's raised eyebrow. From Trowa, the raised eyebrow was the equivalent of practically yelling 'what the hell are you laughing at now?'
For the umpteenth time Quatre wondered why his friend had chosen performing as his line of work if he didn't want this kind of fame. Quatre knew the answer; Trowa was good at what he did. Damn good. Despite the basically impassive expressionless façade he wore personally, the man could submerse himself completely in the character he portrayed. Trowa had likened it to wearing a mask.
'When you are nanashi, it's easy to become someone else..." Trowa had said when he first started acting. It had paid the bills.
But that was only the simple explanation.
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She didn't want anything to do with her psychotically dysfunctional extended family, not even to dip into the family fortune. Maybe she was being self-righteous, but the money had been made primarily by cheating other people, including people like her father who weren't around to fight against it any longer.
The Romefeller 'Foundation' had an unsavory reputation, but in the end she found that she couldn't escape it completely. No one had wanted to give a job to a 'green' journalist, despite her potential. Though she suspected that her 'loving' family may have had something to do with her problems in that department, she hadn't been able to get around it.
So, she ended up working at the somewhat skeazy 'Romefeller Star,' a two- bit mass media production that straddled the faded gray line between what was a respectable newspaper and what was a cheesy sensationalist Tabloid. Losing any respectability she could have had as a professional before she had even begun her career was simply adding insult to injury. But Dorothy was good at what she did. Damn good. Despite the humiliation she felt, her relentlessness and amazing instincts got information at breakneck speeds. She compared it to writing cheesy stories with pre-existing characters and barely original plotlines.
'I guess if that's my job, it'll be easy to do it well' she had said when she first started writing for the Star. It had paid the bills.
But that was only the simple explanation.
"That last article was brilliant, Dorothy." Her editor, Sally Po, complimented perching on the corner of Dorothy's cluttered desk and pulling her out of her reverie.
"Oh yes, if you happen to find bullshit brilliant." Dorothy returned, smiling politely through her sarcasm. Sally was nice and pretty understanding of Dorothy's hatred for their line of work.
"Grade A, Golden Bullshit! You are amazing." Dorothy cringed, wishing she wrote for any periodical on the planet other than the Romefeller Star. Sally was a good editor and somewhat of a friend, but she was definitely interested in keeping her job so she was also mainly interested in selling papers.
Even finding out that Trowa Barton owned a motorcycle had been an exercise in walking through brick walls. But then again, Dorothy had to go that extra mile to get a killer story. Any tidbit regarding the mysterious actor was enough to make papers sell like proverbial hotcakes. Those tidbits were hard to find, each delectable morsel was being scraped out of the bottom of a very empty barrel. Putting out an APB on all of his vehicles was a tried and true way to find out where one of the beautiful people *really* spent his time. But she was pretty sure that only Dorothy Catalonia, the Star's top reporter, knew about this particular motorcycle.
Trowa had been spotted by photographers and reporters out on other assignments, blazing down the boulevard and onto the highway. Dorothy had been in her car with the gas pedal to the floor before the caller had even finished the first sentence. Chang Wufei groggily answering his phone in response to her trusty speed dial had proven the most difficult part.
"Woman!" the photographer had yelled coming fully awake.
"Get your ass out of bed and on the road right now." Dorothy said interrupting his inevitable tirade about the "injustice" of being woken from a perfectly good nap. They had remained on the phone, trading directions and insults, until Dorothy spotted the motorcycle at a random, but not sleazy, bar a little off of the main road. Noting that there was a really new, really nice cycle parked next to Trowa's and remembering her informant's info that there was someone with Trowa, she had slipped into the bar to get a better edge on the story while Wufei got set up for taking some pictures.
Dorothy walked into the bar just as the two attractive young men finished a game of pool, which apparently Trowa had won. Since the blonde man approached the bar and ordered two...shots of vodka...Dorothy judged, or some other similarly no frills drink.
She remembered surreptitiously viewing the credit card as he paid, then stealing the merchant copy of the receipt all right under the bartender's nose. 'I should have been a spy.' She thought to herself sardonically.
Finding out who the mystery man was had simply proven to be a gold mine. A young, attractive, and suspiciously single billionaire buying a drink for a young, attractive, mysterious, and also suspiciously single famous actor? It had been too easy. Throw in the motorcycles and leather. It had been a cake-walk.
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More notes: There will be more eventually. Please Review, email ideas if you wish, I'm still working out the plot for this one, I could use a muse *laughs at the unfortunate rhyme*. I just... HAD to write this for some reason...and I need a title...my undying gratitude to the person that comes up with it... I tend to title using song lyrics and titles or Shakespeare quotes...if that's helpful. Arigatou, minna!
And no, for those of you that are hopeful about it, this is not yaoi/shonen- ai/whatever... As cute a couple as trowa and quatre might make...that's just not my bag. So, as far as I and this fic are concerned, they are both, quite definitely, straight. Plus it makes this funnier, at least for me.
If any of you who are reading this are miffed at me for not posting anything for betrayal, all I can say is 'gomen' I will try to do it soon. I'm searching for inspiration, and it keeps striking me...just for other things =(
More notes: "She compared it to writing cheesy stories with pre-existing characters and barely original plotlines." *hysterical laughter* Bashing fic writing itself...??? that's something you don't see everyday! But hey if you can't make fun of something you obviously don't love it enough...*subtle hint to anyone who gets mad at me for any of the random character bashing I do in my fics* lol
Title: untitled as of yet (contest for best title! Ready GO!)
Author's notes: totally randomly inspired alternate universe Gundamwing Fic...my first AU ever actually. I'm not sure what exactly inspired this, but the 'epiphany' just hit me in the shower...maybe I was just high from the combination of tropical kiwi body wash, citrus sun tea shaving cream, strawberries and crème shampoo, and creamy fresh peaches conditioner....bring on the vanilla bodyspray! (glad that it wasn't herbal essences...cause then I don't know what would have happened ;P )
Author's notes 2: oi! That was fun. *giggles at things she's thought of for the rest of this.*
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Quatre leaned back in his huge desk chair as he picked up the tabloid that his secretary had dropped onto the expanse of mahogany. "Thank you, Hilde." He said politely just before his eyes widened at the head line and picture. The secretary gave him a wry look and then melted out of the room.
"What is it this time, Quatre?" asked Trowa quietly from across the room, leaning against a bookshelf. Trowa watched patiently as his friend's face expressed alternately horror and ...hilarity? Quatre finally tossed the tabloid onto his desk, shaking his head in disbelief.
"I suppose if they were going to pair me up with someone, I should consider them thinking that I'm with the 'gorgeous and reclusive actor Trowa Barton' a compliment, ne?" he said as Trowa picked up the tabloid eyes widening slightly, as close as the stoic would come to outright expression of shock. 'Bad boys, For Love or Money?' Blared the headline above a picture of Quatre, in a leather jacket with a helmet under his arm, and Trowa dressed similarly. The picture had been taken little under a week earlier. They had gone out racing, Quatre wanting to know if his newest toy could live up to the hype that had surrounded the cycle's latest model and Trowa, being on a break from filming his latest movie, had wanted to go for a ride on his not quite as expensive but trusty older bike. They had stopped after a while to refuel their bikes and decided to grab a drink and play pool.
"I didn't even notice the paparazzi who took this picture." Trowa finally said, not quite ready to read the article.
"That's unusual." Quatre replied, Trowa's instinct in avoiding reporters and photographers was legend. His ears expertly tuned to the infinitesimal click of the shutter on a camera. Every time a picture was taken, Trowa simply knew. The hundreds of times that Trowa had walked into a room announcing to Quatre that his picture had just been taken on such and such street or at a vending machine in the hotel he was staying in echoed through Quatre's memory. Inevitably those pictures ended up in mass media of some kind, whether it be tabloids, People magazine, or national newspapers. "They must be really good at what they do, ne?"
"True, though I'm actually more impressed that they figured out your name, Quatre." Trowa mused reading through the rest of the article, which varied between exhorting tears from Trowa Barton's female fans, villianizing him somewhat for 'using' the young billionaire for his money, villainizing Quatre in almost the same way for using this influential money to 'take advantage' of the 'gorgeous and reclusive actor', contemplation of his sexual orientation, and wrapping it all up with a beneficent 'good luck'. Whether the good luck was meant for Quatre, Trowa, or the adoring female population, who would inevitably be buying the paper for this article, was skillfully left up to the imagination of the reader.
"I suppose I shouldn't have paid for the drinks with a credit card, ne?" Quatre sighed, he wondered if any of the board members had seen this yet. Trowa staunchly refrained from echoing Quatre's sigh.
"I wonder how long it will take for Entertainment news to come up with the spin that this was a publicity stunt to increase my fan base." Trowa muttered under his breath, causing Quatre to burst out laughing.
"Like you would need to pull a stunt to do that?" Quatre said in response to Trowa's raised eyebrow. From Trowa, the raised eyebrow was the equivalent of practically yelling 'what the hell are you laughing at now?'
For the umpteenth time Quatre wondered why his friend had chosen performing as his line of work if he didn't want this kind of fame. Quatre knew the answer; Trowa was good at what he did. Damn good. Despite the basically impassive expressionless façade he wore personally, the man could submerse himself completely in the character he portrayed. Trowa had likened it to wearing a mask.
'When you are nanashi, it's easy to become someone else..." Trowa had said when he first started acting. It had paid the bills.
But that was only the simple explanation.
@@@@@@@@@@@@@@
She didn't want anything to do with her psychotically dysfunctional extended family, not even to dip into the family fortune. Maybe she was being self-righteous, but the money had been made primarily by cheating other people, including people like her father who weren't around to fight against it any longer.
The Romefeller 'Foundation' had an unsavory reputation, but in the end she found that she couldn't escape it completely. No one had wanted to give a job to a 'green' journalist, despite her potential. Though she suspected that her 'loving' family may have had something to do with her problems in that department, she hadn't been able to get around it.
So, she ended up working at the somewhat skeazy 'Romefeller Star,' a two- bit mass media production that straddled the faded gray line between what was a respectable newspaper and what was a cheesy sensationalist Tabloid. Losing any respectability she could have had as a professional before she had even begun her career was simply adding insult to injury. But Dorothy was good at what she did. Damn good. Despite the humiliation she felt, her relentlessness and amazing instincts got information at breakneck speeds. She compared it to writing cheesy stories with pre-existing characters and barely original plotlines.
'I guess if that's my job, it'll be easy to do it well' she had said when she first started writing for the Star. It had paid the bills.
But that was only the simple explanation.
"That last article was brilliant, Dorothy." Her editor, Sally Po, complimented perching on the corner of Dorothy's cluttered desk and pulling her out of her reverie.
"Oh yes, if you happen to find bullshit brilliant." Dorothy returned, smiling politely through her sarcasm. Sally was nice and pretty understanding of Dorothy's hatred for their line of work.
"Grade A, Golden Bullshit! You are amazing." Dorothy cringed, wishing she wrote for any periodical on the planet other than the Romefeller Star. Sally was a good editor and somewhat of a friend, but she was definitely interested in keeping her job so she was also mainly interested in selling papers.
Even finding out that Trowa Barton owned a motorcycle had been an exercise in walking through brick walls. But then again, Dorothy had to go that extra mile to get a killer story. Any tidbit regarding the mysterious actor was enough to make papers sell like proverbial hotcakes. Those tidbits were hard to find, each delectable morsel was being scraped out of the bottom of a very empty barrel. Putting out an APB on all of his vehicles was a tried and true way to find out where one of the beautiful people *really* spent his time. But she was pretty sure that only Dorothy Catalonia, the Star's top reporter, knew about this particular motorcycle.
Trowa had been spotted by photographers and reporters out on other assignments, blazing down the boulevard and onto the highway. Dorothy had been in her car with the gas pedal to the floor before the caller had even finished the first sentence. Chang Wufei groggily answering his phone in response to her trusty speed dial had proven the most difficult part.
"Woman!" the photographer had yelled coming fully awake.
"Get your ass out of bed and on the road right now." Dorothy said interrupting his inevitable tirade about the "injustice" of being woken from a perfectly good nap. They had remained on the phone, trading directions and insults, until Dorothy spotted the motorcycle at a random, but not sleazy, bar a little off of the main road. Noting that there was a really new, really nice cycle parked next to Trowa's and remembering her informant's info that there was someone with Trowa, she had slipped into the bar to get a better edge on the story while Wufei got set up for taking some pictures.
Dorothy walked into the bar just as the two attractive young men finished a game of pool, which apparently Trowa had won. Since the blonde man approached the bar and ordered two...shots of vodka...Dorothy judged, or some other similarly no frills drink.
She remembered surreptitiously viewing the credit card as he paid, then stealing the merchant copy of the receipt all right under the bartender's nose. 'I should have been a spy.' She thought to herself sardonically.
Finding out who the mystery man was had simply proven to be a gold mine. A young, attractive, and suspiciously single billionaire buying a drink for a young, attractive, mysterious, and also suspiciously single famous actor? It had been too easy. Throw in the motorcycles and leather. It had been a cake-walk.
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More notes: There will be more eventually. Please Review, email ideas if you wish, I'm still working out the plot for this one, I could use a muse *laughs at the unfortunate rhyme*. I just... HAD to write this for some reason...and I need a title...my undying gratitude to the person that comes up with it... I tend to title using song lyrics and titles or Shakespeare quotes...if that's helpful. Arigatou, minna!
And no, for those of you that are hopeful about it, this is not yaoi/shonen- ai/whatever... As cute a couple as trowa and quatre might make...that's just not my bag. So, as far as I and this fic are concerned, they are both, quite definitely, straight. Plus it makes this funnier, at least for me.
If any of you who are reading this are miffed at me for not posting anything for betrayal, all I can say is 'gomen' I will try to do it soon. I'm searching for inspiration, and it keeps striking me...just for other things =(
More notes: "She compared it to writing cheesy stories with pre-existing characters and barely original plotlines." *hysterical laughter* Bashing fic writing itself...??? that's something you don't see everyday! But hey if you can't make fun of something you obviously don't love it enough...*subtle hint to anyone who gets mad at me for any of the random character bashing I do in my fics* lol